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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361447">take my body</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterdynasty/pseuds/hunterdynasty'>hunterdynasty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but it's kind of romanticized and tame), Body Horror, F/F, Feelings of Being Watched, Flashback, Grief/Mourning, Modern AU, Moving On, Wedding, description similar to an anxiety attack, in a good way xoxo, just. two women in love, kind of?, mentions of rot, this is my first post i have no idea how tags work, weird wacky dream sequences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:08:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterdynasty/pseuds/hunterdynasty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes dreams are powerful things. (In which Yasha runs from the darkness)</p>
<p>[I wrote this for a modern au rp account earlier in the year. it was so fun to do &lt;3]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take my body</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay so. To start off. This is my first time posting any of my fanfic publicly. I'm nervous lmao</p>
<p>I wrote this story during one of my worst periods of 2020 (funnily enough, during febuary I think. before quarantine had even started for most people). I was in a really rough spot mentally and that translated a lot into this, I think. </p>
<p>This work is a study of grief. It burst out of me in one night and I really haven't edited it much since then. There's a part in the middle that I'm still not entirely happy with, but I feel like the work is more powerful when it's raw? Or not, I don't know. I have no idea how this works.</p>
<p>Anyway. This is just a story about two women who love each other unconditionally, even in death. And this is about moving on. </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha sits alone on the train. rain pounds against the windows and distant lightning illuminates the sky from where she came. around her, in the car, families chat and couples share each others’ laps. it’s late, so they speak in hushed voices and ghosted whispers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>alone in her group of seats, yasha stares out the window at the dark landscape passing by. trips for the stormlord can be a variety of things, and they usually come quite quickly and without warning. this trip had been, to her surprise, quite easy. the stormlord, though not a verbal god, always seemed to know exactly what she needed--even when she didn’t, even when she was lost beyond belief. sometimes simplicity is key. sometimes leaving without warning, distancing yourself, is a good thing. she almost didn’t bring her phone; only the realization that she would be on a train without headphones convinced her to take it. she has them on now, but she isn’t listening. her mind is somewhere else entirely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala smiles from the seat across from her. she’s not there, not really. just a memory. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha smiles back. a rare smile that only two people in the world have ever seen. a smile that loves and a smile that kills. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala shakes her head at the thought and laughs. <em> you’re not getting it, </em> she says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha frowns. <em> love, this isn’t something to laugh about. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> i think, all things considered, i am the one who gets to decide that. </em>zuala stands up from her seat, and yasha is suddenly acutely aware of how small these trains are. even now, years later, zuala’s beauty takes yasha’s breath away. she has never been a good writer, but yasha could write an entire encyclopedia on her intricacies. yasha always falls in love with colorful people, it seems. </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li>red. /red/. </li>
<ul>
<li>adjective. a very simple way to describe her hair. the way it’s always messy, no matter how many braids you put in it. filled with trinkets and clips and ties. the way the house was full of them but they’d always disappear. the way her hair is still all over your things, years later. the way you tell yourself you don’t deserve even that little piece of her, but the way they still show up. stubborn. like her.</li>
<li>noun. the color of your blood (tainted) and the color of hers (pure and flowing freely). the color of rage, of fear, of hurting the wrong people. the color that looks you in the eyes and says that it should have been you. the color that your hands are stained. </li>
</ul>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>in front of her, zuala smiles at her again and holds out her hand for yasha to take. rain still pounds against the train’s window. whispered conversations filter their way into yasha’s ears, but they’re just background noise. her wife is calling her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>she takes zuala’s hand and stands up. there is a moment where they are so, so close, and yasha can feel it--that buzzing possibility, that adrenaline. that memory of a thousand long-passed kisses, each one more overwhelming than the last. that promise of another that hovers just on the surface of zuala’s soft smile. green glitter on her lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and then, still holding her hand, zuala steps backward. instinctively, yasha follows her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>her feet, now bare, touch dewy grass. above her, the afternoon sun covers the world in gentle warmth. yasha, still holding zuala’s hand, blinks. a beautiful field of wildflowers greets her, soft and familiar--parallel to the one in her bedroom. it stretches on for miles, only ending at the edges of a forest at the far end. all sorts of groundcover blanket the earth around them, a gentle dusting of purples and yellows over a sea of green. she laughs in surprise and delight and turns to zuala. <em> what is this? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala brings yasha’s hand to her chin and rubs it gently, a gesture of pure love that yasha has not experienced in years. <em> a gift. a bribe. a memory that’s not quite there.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha looks at her, and then looks at her meadow. she would like to stay here forever, she thinks. her wife and her flowers. her wife--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>hold on. <em> what do you mean, bribe? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala, in turn, pulls her close and gives her a kiss. </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li>green. /gren/.</li>
<ul>
<li>adjective. the color of pure life. it fills you up. it spreads from your heart to your chest to your lips to your hands as you inhale, breathe it in. that color, that energy, that life. everything is green when she touches you. </li>
<li>noun. chlorophyll is what makes plants green. you didn’t have many chlorophyll plants when you were with her--in fact, you barely had any plants around you at all. she was the embodiment of life. she was your persephone. you didn’t need flowers because you had her. but she dreamed of them. you told her once that you were going to find her flowers, a whole garden of them, because she deserved to be happy. you have one now, a garden in a book, but it’s too late. you’re too late.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>it steals yasha’s breath away, literally and figuratively. zuala’s kiss was like nothing yasha had ever experienced before or since. every time it stuns her. it’s a force of nature. it <em> is </em> nature. zuala’s kiss is the kiss of the earth, strong and steady and gentle and all-encompassing. when zuala kisses her she can feel herself decomposing, another corpse being taken over by mother nature. zuala is life embodied. yasha exhales poison and zuala turns it into oxygen, turns her rage into love, turns her vengeance into forgiveness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and then it ends, as all things do. even mother nature herself has to breathe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> oh, </em> yasha says, because what else can you say after something like that?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala, flushed and energized, gives yasha a wide grin. <em> i have an idea. do you trust me? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> of course. </em>there is no hesitation in yasha’s mind when she answers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>the sincerity in her voice seems to catch zuala off guard. she blushes, then composes herself and clears her throat. <em> good. follow me!  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> wait, what? </em>but zuala has already let go of her hand. she runs down the hill, laughing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>there is a feeling, in the back of yasha’s mind, that this is a turning point. that something isn’t right, that this won’t end well. but she trusts her love, so she runs too. bare feet against the dew-soaked green below her. following the red. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>in front of her, zuala is laughing. she does a cartwheel and dew sprays up, glimmering in the sunlight. yasha send out a little <em> whoop! </em> as she follows. yasha could never get the hang of cartwheels herself. she was the muscle; she could kill with one hit. but zuala was all long limbs and dexterity, flips and runs. they would race and spar during their free time. yasha could win the sparring matches, but she was never able to beat zuala’s stamina in a race. now, yasha gives herself a burst of energy, drawing from her reserves. but zuala is just too fast. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>and then yasha slips. her hands shoot out to catch herself, and when she looks up zuala is gone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>before her sits the entrance to the forest. it is dark and thick, unlike the meadow of dreams that sits behind her. this green is more primal, more feral, more powerful. this isn’t just life, this is judgment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha does not want to go in. in the back of her mind, she knows what’s coming. she recognizes this too, she knows what this is. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> love, are you coming? </em> comes a call from inside. <em> i have a surprise for you. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha takes a hesitant step forward, and then another. <em> i thought you said it was an idea? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> well, it’s kind of both. </em> the forest green laughs. <em> you’ll see. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>as she brings herself into the forest, yasha can feel the meadow disappearing behind her. she doesn’t look. instead, she keeps her eyes forward, searching the green for a burst of red, searching for her love. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>the trees are taller than any she’s ever seen before. yasha is a very big woman, but she couldn’t even come close to the size of these trunks. they watch her as she passes through their domain. some are unbothered, some are curious. she finds herself saying <em> excuse me </em> to the undergrowth as she pushes through as carefully as she can. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>as she gets further in, everything seems to grow in size. bigger and bigger and deeper and darker she goes. the trees, who were about two-yashas in size when she entered, are now at least five. they tower over her, whispering. the undergrowth is thicker, too, almost pressing in. guarding. <em> excuse me, </em>she says again, this time a little more forceful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>she starts to get worried. there’s no way zuala went in this far, right? did yasha miss her? the trees watch from above as her searching becomes more frantic. their whispers get deeper.  <em> zuala! love, i can’t find you! </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> i’m over here! </em> her voice is so far away. <em> are you coming? i have something to show you! </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha starts running in the direction of her voice. she jumps over roots the size of her own body, ducks under branches too low to be alive. the giant forest’s gossip gets louder in her ears, becoming a dull roar--a constant humming in the back of her mind, hiding just beneath the underbrush. she has to find her, has to be there. zuala has something to show her and yasha would not miss it for the entire world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>and just like that, it’s over. the trees watch from their normal perches, normal sizes. the undergrowth lets her pass. and in front of her is zuala, who looks a little surprised. <em> are you okay, love? you look worried. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha blinks. she’s found zuala in a small clearing and zuala has something dark in her hand. patches of sunlight freckle the mossy floor. <em> yeah….yeah, i’m okay. i just couldn’t find you for a second there. i’m not very good with directions, you know? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala smiles. she hesitates, playing with whatever is in her hands, then looks away. <em> yasha….what if we were never separated again? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>what? </em>yasha takes a step forward into the clearing. the underbrush gently closes behind her. she barely notices. the moss is soft under her feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala laughs nervously. <em> i mean, gods know you can’t walk around a forest without someone holding your hand. you need someone to….keep you from getting lost. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>she’s nervous. why is she nervous? <em> what are you saying, love? just draw me a map. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> no, that’s not--that’s not what i mean, yasha. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha reaches her. she’s still not making eye contact. <em> what’s wrong, love? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala bites her lip. she’s never nervous like this. yasha tries to reach out, take her hand, but she quickly moves it away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> zuala. please tell me what’s wrong.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the forest holds its breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala looks up. she is so incredibly beautiful. <em> yasha….do you love me? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha actually laughs at that. <em> of course. i always have and i always will. you give me life.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>she smiles. <em> and…….this is the important part, yasha. do you trust me? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>there is a rare seriousness to zuala’s tone. yasha matches it in her response. <em> completely.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> then let’s attach ourselves. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha starts. above her, the forest whispers again. <em> sorry? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>now that she’s said it, zuala seems to gain traction. <em> yeah, let’s just do it. it can be just us. nobody else has to know. nobody’s around to see. i love you and you love me and there’s no...you know….logical reason why we shouldn’t, you know? our love is beautiful. it should be celebrated just like everyone else’s. i have the binding cloth prepared.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>this is overwhelming. but despite everything, despite the stakes and the ever-watching forest, yasha is inclined to say yes. she thinks the clearing is getting smaller.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>in front of her, zuala opens her hand to reveal a long, dark strip of cloth. <em> only if you want to. i’m sorry, i should have talked to you about this first. this wasn’t a good idea. i’m sorry, love, let’s just go back. unless you would like to do it, do this--i just, your expression, it’s kind of hard to tell. it’s up to you, love. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>she fidgets with the binding cloth as she babbles. yasha watches her, entranced, and finds that she is looking at her wife. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha puts a hand over zuala’s. she stops mid-sentence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yes. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a cold wind brushes through the clearing, tossing zuala’s hair. <em> what? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>some of the hair got caught in zuala’s mouth. yasha brings her thumb up to zuala’s lip to brush it away. <em> let’s do it. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>it’s zuala’s turn to be stunned. yasha hasn’t removed her hand from zuala’s mouth, and zuala’s own hand finds itself resting over hers. <em> are you sure, love? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> zuala, you are my love and my life. you share my soul. i’m sure about that. i trust you completely. i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i don’t think i’ve ever been this sure of anything else in my entire life.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>they’re both crying and laughing. <em> all right, then, flower, </em> zuala says. <em> let’s make this official. </em>she takes yasha’s hand from her face, and with the other one begins to wrap the binding cloth around their wrists. there’s rain in the air. the clearing is small and the green is deep. yasha watches her and feels….soft. and light. she feels like she is made completely out of love. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala begins to speak the words, twisting the cloth around their hands tighter and tighter. braids and knots almost seem to form on their own. yasha takes her end of the cloth and continues their ritual. their voices complement and harmonize with one another naturally. above them, the trees lean in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala looks up and smiles. her eyes are full of tears. with her free hand, yasha pauses in her ritual and wipes them away. <em> i love you. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> i love you too.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>their hands, now completely entwined, end. there is a moment where everything is still, and then yasha kisses her wife.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<ul>
<li>black. /blak/.</li>
<ul>
<li>adjective. the color of your hair. the color of a promise. the color of silence and of change. a completeness or an absence. </li>
<li>noun. you were never superstitious, but she was. she would tell you that true black doesn’t happen naturally--that black was just really dark something-else. she said that if you ever came across anything that was true pitch you should run and never look back. you laughed.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>something isn’t right. when yasha kisses zuala her lips feel wet and cold--there is no life. yasha pulls back, but the binding stops her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>zuala looks at her, confused and concerned. black liquid drips from her mouth. <em> what’s wrong, love? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> you--you’re-- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha tries to take another step back, but the ceremonial binding is still holding them together. she looks down at their conjoined hands. from where the binding sits, zuala’s veins are black. the tips of her fingers are turning pale. as yasha watches in horror, the black liquid rises up zuala’s arms through her veins. she watches it travel up and up and up until it reaches zuala’s face. the wind rises, tossing her red, red, hair again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yasha, what’s wrong? this is what you wanted, right? the binding? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> no, no, we have to---we have to take it off, it’s killing you--love, it’s-- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha reaches for her hunting knife but it isn’t there. nothing is there. she is nothing. she is trapped. in front of her, yasha’s wife looks on with black eyes and pitch tears. the forest is getting darker. the wind is pushing her, telling her to get out. but she can’t. she’s bound. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yasha, let go! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the darkness is rushing through the trees behind zuala. yasha can see it coming for her. the wind is strong and the forest is dark and humming and zuala bleeds black blood. yasha tries again, but to no avail. the binding is made of love and it’s not about to break for anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yasha. let me go! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> i can’t! </em> yasha cries. <em> i’m scared and trapped and i’m not going to leave you!  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>the darkness presses in from all sides. black liquid pours from zuala’s mouth. the trees scream around them. everything is too much, too much, too much. she can’t--can’t let go--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yasha. look at me.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>she can’t she can’t she can’t it’s everywhere and she needs to break out, needs to leave, needs to--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> yasha. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>her wife calls her. dimly, over the noise of the blackness, yasha can hear her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> you need to let me go.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> i can’t, you know i can’t--.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> you have to. it will kill you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> i’d rather die with you than live without you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> well, </em> zuala chuckles, <em> my dying wish is to make sure you live a happy and full life. you wouldn’t deny me that, would you? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>the blackness swirls around them, but they are in the eye of the storm. the grass is green under their feet. yasha looks down at their hands, clasped. there is no binding cloth. just them, together, intertwined. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> go, </em> zuala says. deep red blood pours from her eyes but she smiles at yasha, unbothered. <em> there are so many flowers in the world to see. don’t give it all up just for me. i’m already gone. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>and she is. as yasha watches, zuala begins to fade into the dark. her skin turns pale and rots, gently, softly. a woman of the earth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> i love you, </em> yasha says. it’s a fact. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> i love you too, </em>zuala says. it’s a promise. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha lets go of her hand. immediately, the blackness begins to take her wife. it envelops zuala like a lover. she smiles reassuringly, her eyes now holes, her skin now dirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha turns and runs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>the blackness chases her, but the trees let her pass. she runs and runs and runs, sprints through the unending forest. runs for miles, days, weeks. always, the blackness behind her, whispering promises of a guaranteed reunion, reminding her of the red on her hands. she’s tired, but she keeps running. it begins to rain. there’s a light up ahead, voices. if she can just reach it, reach them, then maybe she’ll be safe. maybe she can stop running.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>rain pounds against the window of the train. yasha blinks tears from her eyes and turns down her headphones, letting the drumming of the familiar sound blend with whatever acoustic background music she had been listening to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>someone across the way is staring at her. she gives them an awkward wave and attempts a reassuring smile, then turns back to the window. she must look like a mess. who cries on the train? her, apparently. dreams are like that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>she should tell her friends she’s on her way back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>yasha picks up her phone. she should tell them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the darkness outside almost seems to dim the lights for a moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>she sighs and locks her phone, message unsent, and watches the raindrops trickle their way down the window.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can follow me on tumblr @acefjords or on twitter @brensbeau. feedback is greatly appreciated. </p>
<p>i love you and i'm proud of you. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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